From the Desk of Zoe Washington(16)

“Am I in trouble?” I braced myself for another lecture about why I shouldn’t communicate with Marcus.

“Not at all.” She sipped her tea.

“I’m not?”

Grandma sighed. “It’s natural to want to know about your father.”

“Even if he’s a criminal?” I asked.

“Even if he’s a criminal,” Grandma repeated.

The worry deep down in my belly lifted up and away like the steam from my teacup.

“How long have you been writing to Marcus?” she asked.

I wasn’t sure if I should tell her, but it seemed like if anyone would understand, it might be Grandma.

“Not long,” I said. “He sent two letters, and I sent two back.”

Grandma nodded. “That time I saw you with a letter in your room? It wasn’t from your friend at camp, was it?”

I shook my head.

“You were upset. Are the letters bothering you?” Grandma asked.

“No! In that letter, Marcus said that he wanted me, before I was born. I wasn’t expecting that.” A lump appeared in my throat.

“I see,” Grandma said.

“Do you think Marcus is bad?” I asked. “He sounds nice when he writes to me, but he’s in prison for doing something terrible.”

Grandma shook her head. “You know, there are multiple sides to everyone. People aren’t so black-and-white. Sometimes good people do bad things, and bad people do good things.”

“So, you think Marcus is only somewhat bad?” I asked.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then changed her mind and closed it.

“What?” I asked.

“I think Marcus is a good person at heart,” she said.

“I kind of want to keep writing to him,” I told Grandma. “I still have so many questions. But Mom can’t know about this.” I paused. “Will you keep my secret?”

Grandma exhaled. “I don’t know, baby. I shouldn’t keep secrets about you from your mom.”

“Please? I promise I’ll tell her. I just want to write a few more letters to Marcus. Before she makes me stop. You know she won’t let me write to him.”

A few long seconds passed as Grandma stared thoughtfully out of the window.

“You’re probably right,” she said, looking at me again. “I still don’t like the idea of lying to my daughter, but this situation is not normal. And I think your mom has been stubborn. She’s let her own feelings about Marcus get in the way.”

Grandma paused, and then said, “How about you give him my address instead. You can read his letters at my house. But I’ll read each of them first, to make sure they’re okay.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes. But you have to come clean with your mom,” Grandma said. “Before the summer is over.”

“Okay.” I had no idea how I would tell my mom about this, but I’d figure that out later. “I guess I’ll write to Marcus tonight and give him your address.”

“Good idea. I’ll mail it for you tomorrow.”

I leaned over and gave Grandma a hug. She smelled like the lemonade tea and honey. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She squeezed me back. “I love you, baby girl, you know that?”

“I love you, too.”

From the Desk of Zoe Washington

July 11

Dear Marcus,

I told my grandma about these letters, and she’s glad I’m writing to you. Do you mind sending your letters to her house instead? Her address is below.

I paused and pressed the back of the pen against my chin. I thought about what Grandma said about people not being black-and-white. Maybe that’s how Marcus was—he did something terrible, the worst thing I could imagine. But at the same time, he’d been sweet to me in his letters and had interesting things to say. I still wanted to know more about him. Maybe he’d changed and was a better person now.

The one thing I’d been holding back talking to Marcus about was his crime. Before I could change my mind, I started writing again.

I’ve been wondering about what you did. I know a little about it. I don’t want to think about you being a murderer, not when you’ve been so nice to me in these letters. Are you sorry you did it?

Zoe

PS Please send another song. I started making a playlist called “Little Tomato’s Playlist.” I thought you’d like that.





Chapter Eleven


On Saturday morning, I walked into the kitchen, itching to bake something. I opened the fridge and spotted Mom’s container of raspberries. She liked to put them with granola on her yogurt for breakfast. The container was still almost full, so I took it out, thinking of the raspberry crumb bar recipe in Ruby Willow’s cookbook. I was pretty sure we had the rest of the ingredients I’d need. I ran to get the cookbook from my room.

Mom was in the kitchen refilling her coffee mug when I got back.

She watched as I found the recipe and started pulling flour, sugar, and butter from the cabinet and fridge.

“Can I use the oven?” I asked, since that was the rule. “And can I use the rest of your raspberries?”

“Yes, and yes,” Mom said. “Would you like some help?”